You know when you've been away too long when friends write you asking if you're still alive.

I am. Forget the rumors to the contrary.

What happened? I'd like to say it was a pirate kidnapping, but I had to give up kidnapping pirates years ago. What really happened was far more mundane. It was the new job and a case of the Flu.

I've been very busy with the new job. Things are hopping around here. I've built more computer servers in six months than in the previous 15 years. It feels good to be working for a growing business again-- a trucking/warehouse/packaging company out of Walton, KY. Good news: They first interviewed me last year in the middle of turkey season. I came out of the woods, showered, donned my monkey suit and drove to the interview from camp. They know about my hunting habit and that I won't be available for at least a week in April.

So everything was humming along. I got a new digital recorder for XMAS and was recording material for a new batch of podcasts. Then I started feeling funny at work and went home. By 6 PM I had a raging fever. I knew I was delirious, because:

a) I'd been watching FOX News Channel and the TV was off.b) There was a raccoon on top of the set, eying me.

I might have been suckered in and grabbed the shotgun next to the bed, but raccoons are noisy critters, and this one was silent. Being a turkey hunter helps in so many ways. I called the doc and told her I had raccoon on the TV. She understood and got me lots of good meds.

I tried to go back to work after a couple days, but I kept getting ashen and folks started telling me I looked terrible. All told there was about 3 weeks there that I spent going bed to chair to bed and feeling completely drained. This all started the second week in January. I'm finally fully dug out at work. I finally stopped needing to take naps when I got home from work so I could be rested enough to go to bed. If you've had this crud, you'll know what I'm talking about.

I won't open Turkey Camp this weekend. The weather is still lousy. However, I'm starting to pack. Angus' shotgun is still at the 'smith-- his 870 ate itself at the end of last season. I can't wait until I'm sitting on the front porch listening to the gobblers.

More news: Angus, my bagpiping #3 son has decided to give up on competitive bagpiping. He was on his way to the World Championships in Glasgow this summer, and decided it was no longer fun. He wanted to play banjo, so I bought him a banjo. Within 6 hours he was picking out Dueling Banjos, and he is currently working his way through the Ralph Stanley catalog. He may end up a better banjo player than a bagpiper. It was a bit of a jolt, but hey! It saves me the trouble of trying to get a passport this year.

#1 Granddaughter, Mooselette, is up walking around on her own. She made noise on a Quaker Boy push pin call the other day. I'm hoping to have her on box calls before season starts. Momma Moose has pronounced her fit for Turkey Camp.

Arrrrrrrrrrrr ' ya doin, mate? Sho 'nuff been some nasty viruses going around this year. I never get sick but it took me down this year. Had the week off between Christmas and New Years and was sick the whole time. Couldn't answer the bell on January 2nd (after 11 days off) and had to burn up 3 sick days the first week of the new calendar year...I was less than pleased about that. The Doc deemed it a sinus infection and said "You never get sick, you've been coming to me for nine years and this is the first time!"

Kind of rare to hear about an 870 needing work, those things are built like tanks.

Somehow fitting that Angus has selected the second rarest instrument to play, after being a piper. Suppose in your neck of the woods banjo pickers are not all that rare though. Reminds me of the old musician's joke that your son may come to appreciate some day-

"What's the definition of perfect pitch?"

Answer; When you throw an accordian into a dumpster and it lands on a banjo.

"The joy of living is his, who has the heart to demand it." Teddy Roosevelt

Maybe its my backwoods hillybilly coming out of me but personally I would love to listen to a good banjo player than any other. Shaman I think ol' Angus is going in the right direction. Glad to hear you are finally feeling better.

The 870 was kind of my fault. You know how on a Mossberg 500, the two little thingies on either side of the bolt come out? And on an 870, they're peened into place permanently? Well, when I was reassembling Angus' 870 one of the thingies came out. I thought nothing about it and put it back in. That was my mistake. Later, during season, Angus took a shot and the thingy came loose again and tore off the end. Now that's bad-- having the end your thingy torn off. Dad always taught me, when you start seeing the end of your thingy come off, you know you're doing it wrong. So off I go to the gunsmith.

I think Angus' big problem with the pipes was that they only play nine notes. That was it. He could play them really fast, but it ended at nine. He would sometimes put tape on the holes to get an extra one here and there, but nine notes was not enough. Last night he introduced me to this: